Dreams Accord No Truth
by Val Mora
Summary: [R&J] Mercutio jests of dreams and the Fairy Queen, and Romeo trusts slumber’s fantasy, but Benvolio stands silent. Wherefore? MercutioBenvolio slashy angst.


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Title: Dreams Accord No Truth  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** Mercutio jests of dreams and the Fairy Queen, and Romeo trusts slumber's fantasy, but Benvolio stands silent. Wherefore? (Mercutio/Benvolio slashy angst)  
**Disclaimer:** If I were the Bard, I'd be either dead or sinfully rich. As I'm neither, I figure that Will is someone else. I'm just playing with the boys and putting his grave on perpetual spin cycle.  
**Dialogue Taken From:** Act 1, Scene 4.

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Dreams Accord No Truth

Oh, and had he dreamed, or had another asked, the words would have come – dreamt of a summer-hot street and of jests, or perhaps a dream of Mab, the Fairy Queen, her coach drawn through the air as she gave fantasy to lovers and those who loathe alike. 

None asked; it is granted that Benvolio, the peaceful, the impartial, dreams not of fancies or fairies, and that his sleep is as unencumbered by emotion as his waking seems. Would that the mask were the matter, for his slumbers pass encumbered 'cross his eyes, dim as rainèd dawn and near-forgot upon waking.

"And in this state she gallops night by night," says Mercutio, hands awash in darkness as they reach to the speckled sky, perhaps in prayer or to beseech or only to mock somber, sullen Romeo, "Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love." 

His words stop not, but Benvolio can listen no more – for he did dream of love, but Queen Mab saw not fit to accord truth to slumber's fantasy. Were he a lover, he would have no need to dream of love, for the waking world would become his dream, and Morpheus' realm a lonesome one, pale by compare.

And what waking curse be this, that slumber is but cruel respite – forget, surely, the truth of the matter, but sleep lasts for but a few hours, and upon rising with the new day, the fog of the Fairy Queen's spell is lifted and he must needs face grim truth once more.

The curse be this: love, that fairest of all feelings, that weighs of lead when unrequited and breaks the chains of bondage to this world when not.

Benvolio's burden is not lead; that metal is too light for the pain of his heart and chest, to watch the other watch the women with an eye for the lady's leg and face. A thousand stones upon his back, to break it, as the tales Mercutio tells of lady conquests break his spirit.

Would that the conquests were naught but false tales of virility, and that Mercutio wished to have his sole conquest be but seduction, and of Benvolio. Would that Mercutio saw no difference 'tween a man and a maid in love, save that love's true touch came from former. Yet therein lies Fate's traitor-kiss, for Mercutio seems not to wish that touch, nor aught else but a woman's form, and the only form Benvolio wishes to know is his. 

Benvolio dare not speak his thoughts. The law is firm, the punishment stringent, should Mercutio fear his words, and that is a risk he dares not take. Better, far, silence, for all the pain, and the weight of Atlas' burden upon his shoulders to see Mercutio's hand on a lady's, or the seductive glances sent only to the latest paramour. He would hoard such looks for himself, were it within his power to snatch them from the lady's grasp, hold them as jewels and his alone. The ladies know not that which they receive, yet Benvolio does; would treasure such, not waste as he sees them do.

Mercutio keeps no one woman in his favor past a week or two, and that blessing Benvolio knows well. Eight years met, and eight years' friendship, preferred by far to passing fancy, he would rather a friend than a forgotten lover, kept close through time, not buried by its passing. Friendship he would bear willingly over abandonment and hatred, and such is done; lips closed over declarations and eyes shut to Mercutio's attention to others. Only in thoughts doth there be truth behind masks, and jest-concealed affections.

Benvolio dreamt of love, and frustrations to the waking world make jaded words. "Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace. Thou talk'st of nothing."

No man can speak of lovers' dreams when there be no dream to haunt his slumber, to become the compass which doth give order. Mercutio hath no right to speak of lovers' wishes to Benvolio, whose wishes are for him.

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If you enjoyed this (ha!), read Oenone-Jade's "Love Lies Bleeding" (storyid on FFN: 777900 – beautiful, beautiful dialogue and inspiring as anything), or Chisakami's "Excuse me, I'm off to snog Benvolio" (storyid on FFN: 1167148 – funny, sweet, fluffy, and all that good stuff). Those are the only two other M/B R&J slash fics I know about, so if you have more, tell me. 


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